


His Choice

by writingfortherapeutic_reasons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Battle of Hogwarts, Conflicted Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Angst, Draco Malfoy Has a Heart, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mild Gore, One Shot, Other, POV Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Violence, just all round emotional fuckery basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfortherapeutic_reasons/pseuds/writingfortherapeutic_reasons
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts, except Draco Malfoy stands up to Voldemort in the courtyard scene.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Other(s), Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 90





	His Choice

‘And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us.’

A pause. Two words, spat out with venom into the cold morning air.

‘Or die.’

Draco fixes his gaze on the rubble before him as Voldemort’s serpent eyes pan the crowd. His body swims with the exhaustion of sleepless nights, while his mind is forced to stay alert to the danger that he is once again in. He doesn't want to fight anymore.

‘Draco.’ His father’s rasp breaks the heavy silence. Heads turn to stare accusingly at him, and Draco feels a small flutter of hope that is replaced by a heavy weight in his chest as he realises the head he most longs to see is not there.

What if you're dead? 

He doesn't want to think about it.

He would never forgive himself.

‘Draco.’ His father, again, this time more desperate. More heads turn to look, none of them yours.

Draco finally dares look up, his sight travelling past the cloaked figure that has haunted him for the past few years and landing on his father. Lucius Malfoy, with his bloodshot eyes, dishevelled robes and straggly blonde hair, is a sad imitation of his former self. 

Draco hates him. 

He hates Voldemort too, and his stupid movement. He doesn't want to go.

But he is terrified, afraid of what he knows Voldemort is capable of, afraid of what he has seen in those long grisly days at Malfoy Manor. He sees the green light hitting Professor Snape’s colleague square in the chest and her falling with a sullen thud onto the wood. He sees the snake sliding up the table too, past his trembling hands, and opening its fanged mouth and devouring her whole, blood and bones and guts covering where he used to eat his dinners as a child. He sees his aunt’s blade opening up Hermione Granger’s arm. 

When his mother - his mother, who he still loves, even after everything - speaks his name, softly like she had done when he was younger and less scarred, Draco's resolve disappears. Everything else blurs until all he can see is her platinum blonde head, and he lifts one foot and takes a step onto the rubble in front of him, and then another, until a hand reaches out from behind him and grabs him by the wrist.

And there you are, weak from the night's fighting, tears staining your cheeks, but with eyes as bright as stars because you are alive, wonderously, gloriously alive.

'Draco.'

For the third time, someone speaks his name, and Draco takes in the sight of you, who he's loved since fourth year, who he's continued to love despite your ending it due to his involvement with Voldemort. Evidently you must still have some feeling left towards him, otherwise you wouldn't be doing this.

He'd looked for you in the battle, before and after the fire in the Room of Requirement, heart leaping when he caught sight of people who could've been you, but weren't. This went on for the rest of night, and in the heat and terror and waves of dead bodies that were too many to count, Draco had slowly given up hope.

'I thought you were dead.'

'Draco, don't do this.'

Your hand continues to grip his wrist tightly, nails digging into soft skin. People are staring, and Narcissa Malfoy calls once again for her son, the sharp edge of fear creeping into her tone.

'I don't want to,' he chokes.

'Then don't,' you whisper. 'You're better than this.' You indicate with a shaking hand towards Voldemort and his followers. 'You're better than him, than them -'

'I'm not.'

'You are. And - and you wanna know why?'

Draco stands still. The only part of him that moves are his grey eyes, stormy with turmoil and guilt. Then he begins to turn his head to look back at his parents. You reach out and place a trembling hand on his cheek, and gently guide his eyes to stare back into yours.

'Because they've made their choices,' you say. 'They chose, some longer ago than others, to hurt people because of who they were. They chose to inflict pain. They chose to ruin lives. They've already chosen the path they want to take, and have covered a lot already. Most of them even seem to enjoy it.'

Grey eyes, stormy eyes, eyes beginning to fill with tears -

'I don't think you would enjoy it.'

'Draco!' Narcissa and Lucius, together this time.

'My parents,' he whimpers, sounding like a little boy again.

You keep your hand pressed to his cheek. You can feel his blood pumping under his skin: warm, hot, _pure_ blood, blood which isn't at all different from anyone else's.

'This is your choice. Your parents cannot make it for you.'

A grey sky above a grey castle covered in grey rubble, Harry lying dead in Hagrid's arms -

'They made theirs a long time ago. Don't suffer for them anymore. God knows you've suffered enough.'

You take your palm off his cheek; you've said all you can say. Draco is free now.

'Draco.' A fourth speaker sounds his name in a soft snarl, and this time it is Voldemort himself. He is growing impatient - he is not making a request. It is a command, for Draco to decide. For Draco to choose.

He pulls his eyes away from yours. You don't know what he is going to do. You have never been able to read him, not really, not even when you look into his soul through grey windows.

' _Draco_...'

A final warning. A sharp intake of breath from the crowd, and strangled screams are ripped from both Lucius and Narcissa's throats.

The man turns around, and looks deep into Lord Voldemort's snake eyes.

Draco Malfoy is shaking with terror, but he somehow manages to keep his voice steady.

'No.'

A gasp from the crowd, an angry hiss from Voldemort, and Lucius Malfoy begins to plead.

'My lord, he is just a boy - he does not understand what he is saying - the gravity of his words -'

Voldemort ignores him. He continues to stare at Draco, who stands his ground despite wanting the earth to give out underneath him. He imagines the flash of green light again, the dull thud, the snake -

' _What did you say_?'

The Slytherin common room, the thrill of Quidditch matches, Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, laughter with you -

' _No_.'

Narcissa Malfoy speaks, her soft voice brave in the cold air. 'My lord - please.'

Voldemort raises the Elder Wand -

'My lord, please!'

_I'm so sorry, mother. I had to do this. I had to do it_

You grab Draco's sweaty hand and quickly lace your fingers with his, because if he is going to die, surely you will too, and you want to go with him. You want to go with the man who made the right choice, if only at the very end.

Voldemort begins to say the spell and you grip Draco's hand tighter, but just as you've prepared to die something in the Dark Lord's face changes and he whips around.

The bolt of green light hits Narcissa Malfoy square in the chest, and she falls with a sullen thud onto the cold stone floor.

Someone screams. Draco lets go of your hand and runs to his mother, Voldemort's inhuman laugh echoing in both your ears -

_This will hurt him far more than him dying ever could_.

You want to run to Draco but your legs have turned to jelly and you can't breathe. All you can comprehend is the sound of him _howling_ , and you've never heard anything like it in your life. You shove your hands over your ears to no avail. Raw, ragged, animal screams of pain sound out in the courtyard of Hogwarts.

Guilt and heartbreak descend upon you, and they're heavy, so heavy that it hurts. You sink down under the gazes of the onlookers, the vision of three blonde heads, one of them lolling lifelessly on the stone - oh god - blocked from your view. Not even Harry jumping from Hagrid's arms and the chaos that ensues cause you to rise from your sitting position.

Eventually you feel strong grips under your arms and Neville Longbottom pulls you into the Great Hall, putting the grey courtyard out of your sight.


End file.
